Too Far Gone
by rainingWolf
Summary: There is a certain point in life that marks the change and fall of someone. Thor's back from Asgard and this time, he bought a certain someone with him. Confrontations will be made and perhaps with them comes understandment as to why Loki did the things he did. / "This changes nothing!" / A fic delving into Clint and Loki's relationship and how they interact with one another.
1. Chapter 1

_Hold on, I'm coming for you. No matter what it takes, I'll always be there for you._

* * *

The sky was blue. And there were three rather fluffy clouds directly over him.

Those were the first things Stark thought of when he opened his eyes after falling about fifty feet after one of the weirdo alien things he was fighting managed to snag a lucky shot and took out one of his rocket boots. He had plummeted from the sky and skidded across the pavement before blacking out for a couple seconds.

The few seconds he was out, the rest of his precious team had finished the battle.

Gingerly, he moved his body and when nothing seemed to be broken, he sat up, muscles screaming and sore. He coughed as a voice reached him and then Rogers was in view, relief on his face as his lips curled up into a smile.

"Thank God. You all right?"

Stark just smirked as he took the hand that was being offered and hauled himself up onto his feet. "Of course I am. You guys would be lost without me!"

A half smothered snort erupted from the Captain and next second, he'd already composed himself and was tugging Stark somewhere. "Come on. Everyone's waiting for us."

They made their way across the broken landscape. Cluttered food stands and cars that were crushed were sprawled haphazardly across the streets and at one point, they even saw a truck that seemed to have gone through three buildings before coming to a crashing stop when it hit a halal cart.

Glass from jagged windows littered the ground and Stark was just wondering who the hell was going to pay for this whole mess- it's not coming out of _his _paycheck this time, of that he's sure- when they rounded the corner and a cacophony of noise met their ears.

Bruce had already de-hulked, wearing clothes that were at least two sizes too big for him and he was sitting rather forlornly on the side of the road as Coulson loomed over him, most likely giving a lecture of how he should reign in the 'other guy' so they wouldn't have to do so much reconstruction yet again. The Captain sidled away to call out towards the cleanup crew, grabbing a broom to start sweeping some of the rubble underneath a collapsed building, always the Good Samaritan.

Then, medics were in Stark's face, asking him if he was injured, why don't he take a seat, let them have a look at him, and he resisted the urge to smack the waving caring hands away. Normally, he'd enjoy the attention, soaking it all up, but not today, not when his feet felt like the lead his armour was partially made up of. Still, he followed one to the back of an ambulance where Natasha was, a sour look on her face as a nurse popped her dislocated shoulder in place without even a flinch.

A quirk of her eyebrow was all Stark got as a greeting and then, he was inside the ambulance and told to get some rest by some fawning nurse. Edging towards one of the stretchers to sit down, he noticed Barton lying on one of the beds, one arm over his eyes, the other dangling over the side, his chest heaving up and down in a steady rhythm, indicating he was fast asleep.

"He's exhausted."

Tony whirled around but it was only Natasha, done with her medical overview, her lips drawn down into what could have passed as a painful grimace.

He grinned cheekily even as his hand came up to rub his forehead, a headache beginning to blossom. "Aren't we all?"

A huff came out of the spy's lips as she settled herself next to the master marksman. "You weren't in Chicago hunkering down in the rain to take out a target." Her lips thinned and her face was blank even as her hands seemed to curl towards Barton's that were hanging off the side of his bed. "You didn't stay awake for 72 hours and then was called out again to fight aliens."

Tony held up his hands in an 'I surrender' gesture. "Okay okay. I get the point. Don't wake up loverboy over there because if not, we face your wrath and you kick our asses with nothing but a plastic fork. Yea. Got it."

The wink he sent her way failed to make Natasha smile though her eyes did turn somewhat warmer before her communicator rang again and her face slid back into a wary look before she grabbed it, sighed, and exited from the vehicle.

Stark also gave a sigh of his own as he started taking off his armour, his movement jerky as he ignored JARVIS who rattled on about how much damage the suit had taken and how long it was going to take to fix it.

They were all exhausted. Ever since that fiasco in New York and Thor had taken his wayward brother back to Asgard, monsters, aliens, big time crooks, part time crooks, and all kinds of evil had cropped up all over the place. You name it, the Avengers minus Thor had fought it.

Tony had just sat down on the bed to get some shut eyes when the door to the ambulance flew open to smack the walls with a resounding crash, making his ears ring. Clint had bolted up, knife in hand, as he blinked wearily, his eyes focusing on to Natasha whose red hair seemed to blind them all momentarily.

Tucking his knife away- Tony was gaping at him, wondering where exactly the knife was procured from- Clint scrubbed his face with his hands.

His voice was low as he muttered, "Natasha, what's going on?"

Tony unhelpfully chimed in, "Yea! What the heck was that? It's okay for _you _to wake him up but not me? That's not fa-"

He was cut off. "Thor's back."

"Great! Now that the great oaf's back, does that mean I can go on vacation?"

Natasha cut a dark look towards him and he immediately clamped down his next statement just as the other S.H.I.E.L.D agent said, "There's more, isn't there?"

A barely discernible nod from the sole woman on the team.

"He's back. And he's not alone."

A pause as her eyes seems to darken. "He bought Loki back with him."

Well then, things can only get worse from here.

* * *

- Going to curse myself for starting so many fics and leaving them half finished cause of ~feels~ and so much ideas. Shoot me.

- Feedback?

- Reviews are much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

_Not even a god can bring back the leaves that have fallen._

* * *

It came in fragmented pieces; the voices swirled around his ears needling its way into his brain so that the words seem to be branded permanently on to him.

He remembered Allfather's voice booming in the still royal chamber of Asgard, the same words that haunted his dreams now as someone above him echoed in a soft whisper what someone who he once regarded as his father said in a deathly tone. Only one word registered in his mind, leeching away into his very being.

_… exiled…_

That single word made him want to furiously rub the spot over his heart to wipe the feel of grime away, as if that one word had casted a cover of filth upon him. Everything had blurred after that moment when Thor had roared out a defiant "NO!" that shattered the deathly silence. He remembered shrugging his guards off and reaching towards his former brother- whether to console him, scoff at him, try to stop Thor from making an utterly _stupid _decision that started the whole fiasco in the first place, he didn't know- and then suddenly, blackness.

A whirl of motion. Then he was opening his eyes to meet the blue worried eyes of the God of Thunder. And looming behind the meaty man was an unimpressionable Nick Fury.

This was his current predicament and he blanked his face, his breath coming in and out in a steady manner, showing no indication that what just happened affected him in any shape or form.

And yet… the word was still there, hanging in the air, practically tangible. He closed his eyes for one painful second, so briefly that there was no way that the inscrutable Director of the so called secret organization S.H.I.E.L.D could take any meaning out of that single gesture, letting the word wash over him

_…exiled…_

And the second time he opened his eyes, they clashed with the stoic grey-blue stormy eyes of one Clint Barton.

The Hawk.

And then nothing else mattered as the man opposite of him enunciated his name in a clipped voice.

"_Loki_."

* * *

- Very short interlude into what Loki is going through before Natasha got that call about Thor's rather uninvited guest.

- Next chapter might take a while before I put it out there cause of college and freaking Russian class.

- Hope it makes sense and meets expectations?

- Reviews are much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

_Silence, I discover, is something you can actually hear.  
__-Haruki Murakami_

* * *

There was silence as everything twisted and turned to zero when he met those painfully green eyes that haunted his dreams. The hair on his arms rose up, prickling, as the feeling of icy coldness enveloped him and for the briefest of seconds, he was once again next to the God of Mischief, putting his gun back into its holster as the taller man swept away with a flourish of his cape to snag another prey with his spear.

But that was then. This was now and now meant that it was the Norse God who was compromised and it meant that he was the one who had the duty of watching over him.

And what a heavy burden that is.

* * *

This is Clint Barton.

An unparalleled archer who never misses. A peerless negotiator who convinced half of S.H.I.E.L.D's assets to work for them. A brilliant strategist whose fool-hardy plans always seems to come together at the last second.

And it is in his nature to brush off all compliments to disappear into the vents as to crawl towards the rooftop to relax and contently gaze at the clouds.

With an easy smile and blunt, dry humour, he is respected throughout the organization that he has made home. He is the agent the trainers in the exam rooms hold up as a model, the assassin the enemies of S.H.I.E.L.D try not to piss off, the one being who Nick Fury assigns the most important missions.

They call him Hawkeye- a predator whose sniper skills are phenomenal, whose cunning and fighting abilities are only second to Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow who is rumoured to be as close to him as glove on skin.

Except-

He never feels like Hawkeye. He feels like Clint Barton, a human. And he has never been more aware of that fact when Loki from Asgard erupted from the portal with his palpable fury and a touch of sadness to dose his world with blue clarity.

* * *

- Trying a new writing style and thus an explanation into Clint Barton's characteristics. I tried.

- Short chapter once again. Sorry.

- Hope it makes sense and meets expectations? Feedback?

- Reviews are much appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

_I feel very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabuloo._  
_-Sylvia Plath, the Bell Jar_

* * *

"What the _hell _is Barton _doing _in there?" Natasha was standing in front of the one-way view mirror, hands on her hips, as she glared lasers through the glass towards the tall lanky black hair man in the room.

After she had burst into the ambulance to deliver the message that nobody wanted to hear- the banging of the door and her rather flushed face had bought the others clamouring over- they had shared a moment of stupefied silence as all eyes zoomed towards Clint whose jaw was pressed so tightly that his face seemed to be carved out of stone.

Then, lightning was forking through the sky as Thor touched down, landing only feet away, his face painting as grim a picture as the catastrophe surrounding them.

And now, here they were, gathered in the room next to the chamber that had been designed to contain the Hulk.

And there was no need to answer the impeccable Black Widow's demanding question as one of the men inside leaned forward ever so slightly, breaking the strained silence.

* * *

It was just them; it was as if time stood still for a moment after the blonde had announced his presence with a single frosted two syllable word.

"_Loki."_

That one word rolled across the table to him and slithered into his ear like a snake curling around its prey.

And then, a raspy voice that turned stronger at every word uttered from a throat dried from anticipation and something akin to pain and expectations jumbled together. "Alone. You're all alone now. How does it feel?"

"You would know," he responded with curled lips to convey maximum nonchalance, even as he knew that his answer would curdle both him and the man sitting across from him. "You would know."

But something has changed since the last time they had met and the Hawk did not flinch at his words like he anticipated.

So he drove the point home even more because he knew what was the Hawk's worst nightmares, knew what made the Hawk stay up at night, knew what would break the Hawk until he can no longer fly through the air and will instead limp on the ground with broken wings. "Is it not anybody's fault but your own for being so susceptible to me?" He paused for effect, letting his words sink into the mind of someone who had almost been as close to him as his forsaken brother used to be. "For having heart?"

There was a precious moment where he thought the archer would lunge across the distance between them to strangle him before the door opened with a 'snap', making Clint flirt his grey eyes towards the Widow who now stood in the door frame, shadows making her face dark as she barks out, "Barton, with me."

The person in question just stared at her before taking a stand, palms flat on the table, shoulders tightening up before the man blew heavily through his nose. "Is there a problem, Romanoff?"

The woman just jerked her head sideways, an indication that she wanted to talk elsewhere, anywhere where he could not listen but the archer did not satisfy her with the answer she wanted. The archer continued his stare down with her, tension heavy in the air.

And all Loki the _exiled_ Asgadian wanted to do was laugh because this is utter insanity and he _thrived _on the chaos that is ensuing through the air.

* * *

You lied in your report. Fury never thought to ask you or maybe it's because he already knew. Coulson probably knew. Fury's one good eye indeed.

As you sit across the God who had plagued your dreams form past to present to most likely future, you resist the instinct to curl your hands inwards to hide the pulpy bruised fingers that are the result of unsaid torment that still stews inside you.

After all, this isn't the first time you've been face to face with Loki, the God of Mischief who hails from Asgard. The first time you've seen him had not been when he erupted from the Bifrost in a whirlwind of blue and green but when he had stood forlornly next to the large artifact that had hurtled from the sky and landed in the middle of nowhere New Mexico.

You never mentioned it in your report because back then, in the midst of freezing sheets of rain and the clapping of thunder bellowing from the sky, you thought you saw a ghost next to the giant hammer in the ground. A tall gauntly spirit who had stood for a split of a second before reaching downwards to grasp the handle of the hammer. A lanky wisp who tugged the weapon before looking skywards in what looked like a sad desperate manner before vanishing from sight.

A figment of your imagination, you had said. After all, you had been up for the past 48 hours because Coulson wanted everything to be perfect- the tent set up with the interrogation chamber, the giant bubble like sheets wrapping them, the multitude of agents milling around the area were all under the orders of you.

But when the same haunted man spilled out of the portal and the same man blocked you from shooting the ever loving _god _out of him, you realize karma's caught up with you.

And that can never be a good thing.

* * *

- Sorry about the super long wait. Like half a year maybe? Please don't shoot me.

- Experimenting on different point of views and different styles of writing.

- Again, super sorry!

- Hope this chapter makes sense and meets expectations! Feedback, please?

- Reviews are much appreciated!


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